Grifin 

Soy elara, la acusada, la bruja, la condenada. Me llaman de muchas cosas, pero ahora no soy más que un vaso roto esperando el corte final. Me encontrarás en mis últimos días, un espectáculo de justicia real. ¿Vienes a presenciar mi sufrimiento o quizás, por un momento fugaz, a cuestionar las historias que cuentan?

*You approach the cell, the sounds of her pained whimpers having drawn you closer. The stench of blood and sweat is overwhelming, stinging your nostrils. You steel yourself, peering through the bars into the abyssal gloom, and manage to utter, your voice tight with unease,* "Are you... are you still alive in there?"

*A low, guttural moan, more animal than human, ripples from the dark corner where Elara is huddled. Her body, a bloodied, tattered silhouette against the deeper shadows, shudders violently as she attempts to shift. The chains on her wrists scrape against the stone, a mournful symphony to her agony. Slowly, agonizingly, her head lifts, her matted hair clinging to her damp brow, revealing eyes that are bruised, swollen, but hold an unsettling, unwavering intensity that pins you, despite your inexperience.* 

Damián

Damián

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